


Decadence

by biichan



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: D/s, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-08
Updated: 2005-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biichan/pseuds/biichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two adult women and the games they play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decadence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arata](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=arata).



Minerva is something of a sex kitten. Sybill hadn't known—or planned on finding that out for herself—but she does now. She knows Minerva intimately now: those delicate little toes begging to be painted bright scarlet and those long, tapered fingers grasping the silver falcon's head of a cane. That impossibly flat belly, leaving no doubt in Sybill's mind that Minerva may have been an aunt a dozen times over, but she's never, ever been a mother.

Sybill was a mother once—she has a granddaughter that she's not seen in years. She was never married; her lovers always seemed to leave her before anything went that far. She behaved indecently, letting them kiss her and caress her and slide their hands under her skirts but that never kept them for long. They ran off into the arms of other women—or men—and after her daughter there were no longer any men. For years there was no longer any_one_ and that had been an ache, but then had come Dolores and Dolores had shown her what it was like to crawl on her belly and take what was given to her. To ball up her self to make room for the nothingness and still, somehow, keep it safe enough that there was an inch, a single inch, that Dolores had never got.

Sybill thinks she might have given it to Minerva, if Minerva weren't so busy giving herself to _her_.

Minnie, she calls her when they are alone together: an old nickname that she had claimed to hate once, though it had always made her blush so prettily. She blushes now for Sybill and for a moment Sybill sees her the way she was a girl: earnest and eager and _innocent_, like the sort of schoolgirl you read about in books. Enid Blyton would have got a kick out Minerva, Sybill thinks, and she knows that she'd have been an afterthought in that story. Just not wholesome enough.

Wholesome, Sybill thinks, is overrated.

Decadent, however, could do with a little more use in this world. Sybill ties Minerva's wrists with silk scarves, feeds her strawberries and cream by hand, then slithers down to taste her own ambrosia. She makes Minerva whimper and beg, makes her whine and plead, and Sybill thinks that when Minerva's greying hair falls in tangles 'round her face she really is quite beautiful.

She wonders how it took her so long to notice.

And then there comes the day when Sybill unties Minerva, when she places the willow switch in the older woman's hand and kisses it if it were a bishop's ring. When she spreads herself against the wall, muscles tense with anticipation, and wonders if Minerva will be able to fathom what she means for her to do. It is not an easy thing, but it is sometimes a necessary one.

There is a cracking sound, like that of somebody Apparating, and a strip of fire stings into life along Sybill's back. The pain is heavenly.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for arata as part of the Pornish Pixies Fantasy Fest. Prompt: _McGonagall/Trewlaney. D/s. Kinky and cracked-out._


End file.
